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dir. Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders
writ. Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders, and William Davies, novel by Cressida Cowell
feat. Jay Baruchel, Gerard Butler, Craig Ferguson, America Ferrera
What a delightful surprise this film turned out to be. I knew it was a good sign when one article cited its lack of broad humor and pop culture references as the reason it didn't blow out the box office initially. Thankfully, it found an audience as one of the biggest sleepers of the year, holding rank for weeks. As one who can't count on his taste being easily transferable, I'll rarely raise the flag for a film. But for this one, I tell everyone to see it.
In this case, the trick is in telling a coming-of-age tale with an unusual setting and a unique spin on what makes the main character special. Hiccup (Baruchel) is a young Viking who yearns to slay dragons just like his Pop (Butler). Unfortunately, he's a pipsqueak who shows little promise and as we eventually find out, doesn't have the killer's instinct necessary to do the job. In first hitting, then learning to love the injured dragon, he finds false success as a master of dragons, for understanding instead of violence. This leads to some powerful conflict between father and son, a rift both distressing and plausible within the context of the world. It also sets up Hiccup as a great savior for his people and gives him room to save their way of life and mend things with Pop.
This plot summary doesn't do the story justice. Just as that initial backhanded compliment indicated, the clever writing and very human sensibility of the film and its characters keep it aloft and entertaining. When Hiccup learns to fly the dragon, we experience something utterly lacking in Avatar which, despite its astounding budget and frequent flying effects, never offered the same gasping sense of freefall that grips the viewer as Hiccup dives toward uncertainty. This has as much to do with the attachment to the character as it does with the animation or 3-D effects (can you name one notable characteristic of the main dude in Avatar? me neither). You are along for the ride, sympathetic to both the adorable dragon and the troubled Hiccup.
All of this while surrounded by stunning visuals, created with the support of none other than Roger Deakins, cinematographer for the Coen Brothers films, The Reader, Doubt, and many more, who consulted to bring greater depth to the lighting. And as a last note, the story is well rounded with a budding romance between Hiccup and Astrid, a sly diversion complete with digs about love feeling like a simultaneous kiss and a punch in the face.
dir. Lee Unkrich
writ. Michael Arndt, story by John Lasseter, Andrew Stanton, and Lee Unkrich
feat. Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Joan Cusack, Ned Beatty, Don Rickles, Michael Keaton, Wallace Shawn, John Ratzenberger
I'll admit I was afraid when I heard there was a third installment of Toy Story coming down the pipe. Sure, I'd been thrilled by the second one (after similar fears) and pleased by the bulk of Pixar's films, even stunned by many. Yet, Up lost it's momentum despite a strong start and Cars ran out of gas before it even got rolling. Plus, the tiresome push for more 3-D content loomed as a potential excuse to dance the toys across the screen one last time for a big show of unnecessary added dimension. Thankfully, the wizards of Pixar not only protected the property, but turned out what might be the best of the three, an unprecedented feat in movie threedom.
At their best, the Pixar gang get that great storytelling isn't just dynamic, packing in almost constant movement and frequent action set pieces, but also probes deeply, exploring multiple psychological levels and complicated relationships. Their utmost genius is demonstrated in their ability to combine these aspects in such a way that a child might appreciate an adventure about living toys struggling for survival while an adult will enjoy a tale about growing up, the fear of abandonment, and parting ways with loved ones. All of this is packed into a seamless, riveting story that weaves its way through a variety of movie genres and subgenres that include a ditzy cheesy romance and a film noir jailbreak.
Through all the riotous and outlandishly inventive moments (Mr. Tortilla Head ranks highly among the funniest things I've ever seen in my life,) they never let go of the heartfelt story, each character pulling its weight, facing up to its decisions, and dealing with consequences. And through the highs and lows, they never let the enthusiasm and pacing drop for a moment. On top of that, there are none of the easy solutions common to such stories. Just when you expect a villain to show he's a good soul after all, he's just as rotten as before. Just when you know how the gang will get out of a dicey situation, that escape hatch closes. And just when you think you've seen it all, there is a moment that makes you believe the impossible could happen, that seems shockingly adult and frighteningly human for any age group and which sets the filmmakers so far apart from the rest of the pack that they seem to belong to another galaxy. And as you gasp and the tears come, another turn arrives, one so uplifting, so surprising yet so inevitable, and so perfect that it ties the whole world together and confirms (quite precisely) what you thought a moment ago about those talented folks behind the scenes.
Hell, that's not even the end. It's as though the toys had the allegorical coming-of-age experience that we will never see Andy, their owner, have as he heads off to college. Their separation and the accompanying anxiety follow, a denouement that crystallizes the heart of the story, a gentle and emotional summing up after the exciting heavy lifting. And maybe just here, there is a touch of indulgence in the happy ending, the toys finding renewed love and joy in a new owner and together.
dir. Jean Renoir
writ. Jean Renoir, based on Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde feat. Jean-Louis Barrault, Teddy Bilis, Sylviane Margollé, Jean Topart, Michel Vitold
The unquestionable highlight of Renoir's version of Stevenson's classic tale is the performance by Jean-Louis Barrault as Opale (Hyde). Through astonishing makeup, simple but clever costume changes, and sly cinematography, the dapper aristocratic doctor is transformed into a hunchbacked, puffy faced, wolfman. Opale steals the show with his shambling swagger, limber-necked lothario poses, and persistent menace. His introduction, tormenting a solitary little girl, suggests a venomously energetic Hyde, not only escaping society's norms, but eager to exact a bitter coward's revenge, to hound and destroy the weak and vulnerable.
Unfortunately, other than a lively turn by Michel Vitold as a rival doctor, the film lags whenever Opale is absent. Marveling at Dr. Cordelier's face, doubtful that it could be the same actor in both roles, only engages for so long. This isn't for lack of effort on Renoir's part. When it appears that Opale must have escaped through a high window, angular shots of high exterior windows, treacherously narrow ledges, and officers scouring the roof pair with an eerie score for a moment that would be delightfully unsettling if we didn't already know the gag. Saddled by the viewer's prescience of what should be the stunning final reveal, the better set pieces are defused, their thunder stolen, the ominous edge of the picture drained of its potentially ghoulish impact.
dir. and writ. Nina Paley
writ. Valmiki (book - Ramayana)feat. vocals of Annette Henshaw
This inventive animated feature breaks down the Ramayana epic, telling it through three main animation styles including shadow puppet narrators, miniature Mughal paintings, and cartoony music video segments set to the songs of 20s jazz songstress, Annette Henshaw. In another layer, the director, Nina Paley, tells of her own dissolving relationship, animated in what appears to be a cross between the shaky pencils of Bill Plympton and the doughy figures of Cathy Guisewite.
Much of the art is beautiful and compelling, richly colored and inviting, the frequent shifts welcome to break up what otherwise might become monotonous. The three competing narrators make for the most engaging portions of the film. Their overlapping narration, frequent confusion and corrections, and questioning of the motivations of the characters in the epic give the impression of overhearing a real conversation between a group of thoughtful, argumentative and hilarious Indian history students. The sections move remarkably quickly, with facts, cracks and quips occasionally lost in the fray, though not particularly missed given the delightfully entertaining overarching effect. The painted Mughal style imagery is beautifully rendered, combining seamlessly with the simpler shadow play and lending a touch of authenticity to the historical aspect of the story.
The bright, clean vector graphic music videos are lovely and hypnotic, with amusing perfect circles that make up Sita's body and flat bright colors. However, Henshaw isn't especially dynamic as a singer, her music and lyrics often dull and quickly redundant. The film could have used a singer with more range or various voices, a choice that would not have felt inconsistent given the leaps from style to style. Similarly, the portions relating to Paley's own life could use a lift, both in the animation and the character development. It smacks of a creator wishing to use real pain for effect but too shy to reveal anything of substance. She whines and mopes. He is dull and distant. That's it, the whole time. Either they are the most boring people on the planet or something has been kept from the viewer.
Despite these shortcomings, the movie's fluidity exhibits a powerful charm that quickly restores engagement after letting the grip slide in the lesser moments, holding on and coercing a silly grin.
dir. Peter Bogdanovich
writ. Larry McMurtry (novel), Larry McMurtry and Peter Bogdanovich
feat. Timothy Bottoms, Jeff Bridges, Cybill Shepherd, Ben Johnson, Cloris Leachman, Ellen Burstyn, Eileen Brennan, Clu Gulager, Sam Bottoms
Peter Bogdanovich takes the existential Western through Antonioni territory in his chronicle of a post WWII dying Texas town. Dust blasts through the streets of Anarene as though the dinky burg might blow clear off the map. Teen mute, Billy (Sam Bottoms), persistently if ineffectually sweeps the road, perhaps trying to preserve something long since lost, an era when his father, Sam the Lion (Johnson), brought life and love to the area, caring for it, building its economy by offering opportunities to the locals. As Sam's energy fades, so does that of the town.
Shiftless high school seniors, Sonny (Timothy Bottoms) and Duane (Bridges), won't even commit to the football team as they ramble around, going to the movies, and trying to score with the girls. Jacy (Shepherd) looks for the next thrill, testing out sex in a few forms before trying out elopement. Her mother, Lois (Burstyn), already lived that life and dabbles in it still when she isn't dreaming nostalgically of the few beautiful moments she once experienced.
Though the kids grow older and assume the roles of their predecessors, no savior rises from the dusty streets. The best loved citizens fall, the movie house kills the lights, and Ruth (Leachman), after a defiant screaming moment that rages on behalf of the entire town, surrenders with a gentle whimper.
dir. Steven Soderbergh
writ. Kurt Eichenwald (novel), Scott Z. Burns (script)
feat. Matt Damon, Scott Bakula, Tom Papa, Melanie Lynskey
Soderbergh explodes the title of his film and earns the exclamation point with The Informant! In an adaptation that smacks of...well, Adaptation, Eichenwald's procedural novel about price fixing is twisted inside out by presenting the most unlikely turncoat in Mark Whitacre (Damon). Whitacre, while eager to appear as the well-meaning agent of truth and justice, immediately begins tripping over his own lies, clearly embroiled in the entire scam that he is supposedly unearthing. His moral radar, severely damaged or violently askew, keeps him dodging in and out of the hands of the feds, occasionally realizing his predicament before launching back into the relationship that seems to satisfy him on some level.
Punctuating the story are flashy flower power inspired title cards, playfully hinting at an era earlier than the 90s of the film (which really looks like the late 80s in dress and decor), and wonderfully fanciful musings by Whitacre about the workings of the world. These latter diversions, delivered as internal monologue, present minutiae that fascinates and baffles, potentially guiding his delusionally misguided pursuits. The speedy pace of the picture combined with these disruptive yet propulsive thoughtful moments make for a film wholly owned by Damon, in a role that shows off the range and command of an underrated talent.
dir. and writ. Andrew Bujalski
feat. Tilly Hatcher, Maggie Hatcher, Alex Karpovsky
As a dutiful cinephile, I've tried on a couple mumblecore films, curious to see what the minimal hubbub is all about. Bujalski's earlier Mutual Appreciation had a nice slow burn to it, a quiet warmth that defied the almost aggressively grungy black and white cinematography. It also chose a small but sticky subject, the whiff of infidelity by a girlfriend with her beau's close friend. This near-sex experience has the appeal of awkward conversations, drama that can be visceral to the participants but not necessarily to viewers, a difficult complication to illustrate as it barely surfaces verbally and has no physical component. Bujalski commendably engages the viewer, supporting the story with the secondary plot of Alan's (Justin Rice) move to New York City to make it big with his band, a compelling and relatable period of transition that brings more meaning and grounding to the film.
Beeswax offers up another minor drama, this time depicting twin sisters with their own changes coming down the pike. Unfortunately, these changes are so small and unworthy of drama that all the awkward conversations and petty challenges ring false. Jeannie's (Tilly Hatcher) business problems feel overwrought and unjustified, her inability to deal with them a show of childish weakness forcing the question of how she possibly had the backbone and determination to start the business in the first place. Her sister, Lauren (Maggie Hatcher), feels real enough, but her indecision about whether to go have a real life in another country carries no weight. Perhaps the viewer is meant to be wowed by these real twin non-professional actresses, or take for granted the binding connection between twins that makes it hard for Lauren to leave. But instead one seems whiny and irritating and the other sweet but dull.
The bigger problem comes from the desperate push to seem "real." I don't buy that anyone (without notable mental disabilities) speaks so awkwardly and struggles this much to make connections. Sure, most movie dialogue is unrealistic, a deliberate choice to keep stories moving and chatter engaging. Here, instead of disposing of the script, it feels like a push in the other direction, as though the actors were directed to dumb it down, bury all intentions, hopes, and dreams as though not one clear thought ever spun through a character's head. The end result is the sensation that it would be just fine if this Beeswax were none of mine.
